


Dead Hearts

by dearren



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Glader's Paradise, Headcanon, M/M, Newt's Sister, Post-The Death Cure, Post-Traumatic Stress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearren/pseuds/dearren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ON HIATUS</p><p>A few months after the Immunes reached Glader's Paradise, the last safe place on an ashen planet ruled by insane Infected, Thomas is still struggling. Ghosts of his past haunt him, friends and loved ones that were not valuable enough for WICKED. As he falls deeper into self-loathing for the things he's done (and that had been done to him) the only thing saving him are the few people that genuinely care about him. Brenda. Minho.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS
> 
> SPOILERS FOR THE DEATH CURE  
> Post-Traumatic Stress (and poor dealing with it)  
> Guilt  
> Low Self-Worth, Self-loathing, etc.  
> Anxiety and Panic Attacks  
> Nightmare, Nightterrors, Sleep Paralysis, Hallucinations etc.  
> Blood, Violence, etc. (in Flashbacks, so if you've read the Death Cure you know what that warning is about)
> 
> Might add more, but for now you're safe with these okay.
> 
>  
> 
> You might want to read James Dashner's short story series "Waking Up In The Box" (http://www.wattpad.com/story/21714128-waking-up-in-the-box) because they (might) get referenced (at least aspects of them).
> 
> Vaguely based on a Headcanon by tumblr user wickedisgood that Newt has a twin sister that had been put in Group B.

Crisp wind through the trees, the smell of rain forming in the distance.

Something that resembled houses, scattered in an almost circular clearing, surrounded by the giant trees and thick undergrowth.

People, like ants, traveled between the sheds and cave-like buildings, chatting and chirping, laughing and holding hands and joking. Like the buzz of bees but much softer and clearer, more like hailstones against the frozen surface of a lake.

A stream of clean, fresh water snaked between the woods, a steady rushing sound as it made it’s way from the mountains and along the camp side and out of sight, eventually losing itself in the vastness of an ocean.

Men and women emerged from the forest in a tight group, carrying sticks and branches, to supply the people building the homes as well as the few fires crackling in some of the larger buildings.  
Songs of various birds echoed through the lands, adding to the chatter of people.

A girl with eyes very dark yet very friendly was sat upon a platform, having been built between two large oak trees, giving her the chance of a look over the whole of the camp. A boy sat beside her, his legs hanging over the edge. But he wasn’t afraid to fall.

The crashing of the waves lay softly within the salty winds ruffling their hair.

"What’re you thinking about?" Brenda asked, absent-mindedly tinkering with a bracelet made of tightly linked reed.

The boy hesitated a second, then he turned his face to her.  
“You really asking?” he said, half joking, half serious.

Glader’s Paradise. The last safe haven on a burnt and disease ridden earth. After years of tremendous torture and trials and tests beyond sanity and humanity, they were finally safe and sound, cradled between green trees, mountains and the sea.

"It’s barely been a few months, Thomas" Brenda reminded him, putting down her bracelet and scooting over instead, calmingly placing an arm around his shoulders.  
"And look at what we’ve built so far. Who knows, a little water down the river this might be New New York." She was kidding but it made Thomas feel better nonetheless.

"I know, I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to be sorry" she said, grave honest in her voice and young features. "We’ve all been through some terrible, terrible stuff and I am far from saying ‘it was worth it’."  
She let out a sigh, her gaze swept across the clearing.

Frypan and a few girls he now knew as Virginia, Maria and Marion were preparing food over a fire, talking and laughing, looking alive and well.

"But this is it. It’s all we get and all we need and we’re gonna make it count."

Thomas nodded, letting her presence calm his thoughts. 

“If it weren’t for the nightmares” he mumbled.

Behind all the normality and light-heartedness of day, there were the nights. Darkness, in which a deer could easily be mistaken for a bloodthirsty Griever. Darkness, in which everyone’s features seemed to melt and twist into the bizarre visages of Cranks.

Thomas looked at his hands, feeling guilty that he’d been so selfish. He knew, Brenda was plagued by the visions and memories as well, the ghosts of faces re-appearing in the dark, haunting her.

After months though, they’d kind of gotten used to waking up screaming or insomnia having them pace around the camp, muttering ‘why’s and ‘I’m sorry’s.  
Even though they all were immune to the Flare virus, the past was still eating at their brains.

Sometimes it was Teresa, crushed by a grey mass of concrete. Other times Alby, being ripped apart by hungry Grievers. Or Chuck, bleeding to death in his arms.  
But mostly it was one scene, over and over and over, re-lived by Thomas, shaken to the core every time he saw his friend, sanity taken out of his young eyes, begging for Thomas to pull the trigger on him...

He closed his eyes, inhaled. 

Somewhere, he heard Minho yell at some shanks to ‘hurry up or the rain will wash us all into the shucking ocean’.

"It’s her, isn’t it?" Brenda’s voice sounded sad and very close to his ear.

He stilled, then nodded.

Surprisingly, the group of immunes that were now in Glader’s Paradise, was bigger than Thomas had actually processed, at first. Boys, girls, men, women and kids all ages. It almost seemed like a dream, sometimes.

In the first weeks, after Minho and a troop of adults and teens had built a few very makeshift shacks, they’d held a lot of ‘town meetings’, as they called them. A bit too optimistic, for Thomas' liking.

The first three or so times, it was just Minho telling everyone what needed to be done, all too shaken and stunned and not yet quite there.  
Seeing as a few of the girls from Group B had re-gained their memory, they did their best to explain the group what they remembered from having been tested and prepared at WICKED headquarters, Jorge and Brenda told about the world outside the menacing operation. Then Harriet and Sonya had begun to tell their story, then Frypan, Minho, Thomas and a few others told them theirs. Lastly, there were histories from the other people, the immunes that had been captured yet not actively been tried by WICKED.

Somewhere along those meetings, they had begun to get to know each other. Friendships had bloomed, cliques were formed and it had seemed absurd, at first, how close everything seemed to normality.

Thomas and Brenda had grown even closer, while they both also made new friends within the ‘town’.

Thomas met Josephine, a tall, thin blond woman with a fire in her eyes that seemed contagious in the best way. He got to know Tullio, a dark skinned boy with a buzz cut and a heart of gold and Liu, who was maybe twelve or thirteen and had short black hair and a great sense of humour.

But the most outstanding person he’d met was a girl that gave Thomas’ heart a bitter-sweet reminder every time he saw her. 

She had a beautiful face, long straw-coloured hair and expressive eyes. He’d seen her sitting between two friends at one of their initial meetings. The first time he’d noticed her features, the way her nose curved and her fingers fiddled with her shirt, he’d almost broke down right there and then.

It had seemed unreal. 

A perfect replica of his friend Newt. 

The way she moved, as if every step she took was schemed, the way she talked and laughed and her eyes lit up, it knocked the wind out of Thomas’ lungs, even as he was sat on the platform with Brenda.

After the meeting, he’d asked Liu, who had gotten her memories back, if she remembered anything about the blond girl.

"I don’t remember her actual name", the young girl said. "But I remember her from the Maze, she’d been called Mary."

Thomas nodded, asked for more information, about a possible link between the girl Mary and his friend, that had died at his very own hand.  
"Yeah, pretty sure she had a brother" Liu confirmed. "A twin, I think." 

It had been, as if the ground had tilted, and Thomas were to topple over and fall into a black abyss, but he stood still, glued to the ground, staring at the young girl.  
Anger had welled up inside of him, daring him to think about how WICKED must’ve been more than satisfied, having two people with genes so similar, yet one of them a potential Crank. It sickened him, still, imagining their smug faces, sending the siblings off to different Mazes. And one of them into his death.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Thomas opened his eyes and looked at Brenda, a silent excuse lying within his gaze. 

“It’s okay” she said, a sigh weighing in her words. “I see how you look at her, as if she was a ghost in broad daylight. Hell, Minho looks at her the same way. Your whole Group A looks at her as if she’s the re-incarnation of Jesus himself.” 

She let out a laugh and Thomas joined in, even though there was a dull ache in his chest, that never really vanished since he’d pulled the trigger that day.

"Have you told her yet?" 

He shook his head. "That she’s the twin sister of a dead shank he can’t remember? Not to mention, that I killed him myself? Not a chance."

"I’m just saying, it’s been months that we’ve been here. She must feel weirded out by y’all staring at her."

Thomas just shrugged. 

He wasn’t too keen on telling Mary about Newt. He wasn’t too keen on ever talking about Newt again. At all. Sure, sometimes he and Minho shared a moment in silence, where they just remembered and the presence of each other made it somehow bearable. All that pain. But they never actively talked about the Maze or the Scorch or WICKED and certainly not about the friends they'd lost along the way.

But Brenda was right. 

They couldn’t go on treating Mary with that kind of disrespect. She deserved to know. She deserved to be able to mourn her brother.

"Alright" Thomas said, a finality in his words. Brenda beamed at him, a smile creeping onto her face. She leaned forward, breathing a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same trigger warnings as for the previous chapter!

The sky was darkening, the rumble of thunder announcing the storm brooding in the dark clouds above. Minho and the troop of builders had finished flicking most of the leaky sheds and now joined different groups that assembled to eat or share stories or chat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Thomas wondered how long this bond between everyone would hold until they would break and scatter into smaller groups and meet up inside houses rather than in the open.

He said ‘hey’ to Tullio and small-talked with Josephine and her best friend Anastase, a middle-aged women with ginger hair and almost white eyes, asked them if they’d seen Mary anywhere. They sent him in the general direction of the stream.

The ever darkening sky made Thomas be thankful for the few torches Minho had ordered to be lightened every evening beside the pathways. Thomas made a mental note to thank Minho for being the reason they all were still alive, later.

Greetings and cheers came from the buildings he passed and Thomas waved back, stopped here and there and finally stood in front of a smaller wooden shed, sounds and laughter coming from within.

Thomas knocked on the structure. The inside went silent. 

“Who’s there?” the deep voice of a girl Thomas knew was named Sally asked. 

“It’s Thomas” he answered.   
“Thomas, the good looking bloke?” 

Giggles. He rolled his eyes. “Is Mary there? I gotta talk to her.” 

More giggles erupted inside and Thomas silently asked himself if they did it to discomfit him, if so, they were successful.

What seemed hours later, and the sky had visibly darkened, the door opened and, in the fading light, Thomas felt like someone had kicked him in the guts.

Mary wore her hair up, a blanket draped over her shoulders. In addition, she looked utterly annoyed and confused, her nose scrunched up, eyes fixed on the newly arrived. The resemblance with Newt was breathtaking.

"Thomas?" she asked, stepping outside and closing the door behind her, cutting off another fit of giggles inside. "I’m sorry about them" she said, gesturing behind her self with her head. "Sally found some berries in the forest and I reckon they're fermented." She crossed her arms in front of her. She even was the same height as his friend.

"So, what do you want?" she asked, annoyance swinging in her question. 

Thomas, who wished he’d thought something up beforehand, stuttered something inaudible, before straightening his shoulders and beginning anew. 

A bunch of small kids around the age of maybe seven or eight ran around, laughing, playing a catching game.

"We’ve not officially met" he said, unnecessarily and Mary didn’t hesitate to roll her eyes, sending another wave of chills down Thomas’ spine.

"But you already knew that. What I’m actually here for is to ask ya, if you’ve gotten your memories back."

She cocked an eyebrow. “Why d’you wanna know? No, I haven’t.”

Thomas nodded, he’d thought so. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Well, I’m actually asking because I know something about your past. About your family.” He tried to sound confident but he felt as if every word he said sounded creepy and wrong and as an answer, Mary pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

"Okay, listen. You must’ve noticed that a few people, boys from Group A that is, look at you. I mean, you know not look at you but … look … at … you." He was blushing now. This was a disaster. Thunder rolled overhead.

Thankfully, Mary just stared at him, not saying anything nor going back in.

Thomas decided, that there was no right way to tell her, so he just told her. Told her she used to have a twin brother, called Newt, that had been put in Group A and grown to be one of Thomas’ closest and most loyal friends and proven himself worthy of the WICKED assigned nickname ‘The Glue’. That he’d been the bravest and most clever and caring person, but also been a test subject and therefore not immune to the virus, that was raging in the burned world.

Somewhere along the story, it had begun to drizzle and then full on rain and Thomas and Mary had gone to hide in one of the, fortunately deserted, big meeting buildings.  
When he came to the part where they’d left Newt in the Berg to go to the city, Mary interrupted him.

"That … that is great and all but, seriously, why are you telling me all this? I am sorry, if he was your friend, but I cannot remember him at all. It’s tough but I don’t feel anything when you talk about him."

Thomas tried not to feel hurt too much, just nodded, eager to carry on, prove her wrong. “I know, I know, I just felt like you deserved to know what happened to him, and why he isn’t here with us. You kind of deserve to mourn him, don't you?”

She had sat down on one of the benches, her hands folded in her lap. “I guess he caught the Flare, turned rabid and you had to leave him. Or he ran off, joined a bunch of Cranks, who knows.” 

She said it with a kind of coldness, that Thomas hoped was the usual detached manner with which the former WICKED subjects handled what they’ve gone through.

"You can’t not care about what happened to your twin brother" Thomas said, almost angry at the girl. She had no right to look him square in the eye right then. He wanted to scream.

"I’m sorry that you lost your friend, but I lost my brother long before the Maze Trials began. You heard the girls who chose to get their memories back yourself. We’d all been separated years prior. Whoever this Newt was, he had long since stopped being my brother."

Thomas couldn’t accept that. Rage and sadness boiled in his insides, tears stung in his eyes, a lighting flashed somewhere, illuminating them in a silver-white light.  
Still, Mary just looked at him, if anything, there was guilt in her eyes for not reacting the way he’d hoped for. It reminded him of the unbelievable guilt in Newt's. His pain skyrocketed.

"But he was your shucking brother, Mary! And he’s dead, you hear? He’s dead and I killed him and don’t tell me that doesn’t hurt because it sure as hell has to."

She held up her hands in a defeated gesture, understanding in her gaze that made him feel nauseous. “I’m sorry, Thomas, I underst -“

"No. No you don’t understand. You’re not sorry. But you should be. You talk like him and you look like him and it makes me sick and you don’t even have the guts to feel sad that I shot your twin brother in the face when he begged me to do so because you can’t remember him!"

He felt selfish and disgusted by his own words but it was all so unfair. How was it fair that this girl had Newt’s emotive eyes that looked at Thomas in such a detached and emotionless way. How dared she to stubbornly sit there, a look of grim persistence on her face that he’d witnessed Newt wear countless times.

Slowly, his former rage ebbed to a low, throbbing sense of injustice.

"I’m sorry" he finally said. He meant it. 

The girl had done nothing wrong and, even if he couldn’t imagine her motives, he had to respect her decision. He realised that a part of him had hoped to find a friend in her, like her brother had been. But that hope had been crushed and buried. The rain outside was a steady flow now. Minho did good repairing the shacks beforehand.

She sighed, a sound almost inaudible in the pounding rain. “Now you listen, Thomas. I am sorry, you lost Newt. I really am. But the reason you’re telling me this not because you think I deserve mourning him or anything. You just want me to feel the same pain as you do. You feel guilty. You killed him.”

He couldn’t even speak, it was as if her words materialized around his neck, strangling and choking him. Mary squinted her eyes, a look reminding him of a mother talking to her stubborn child, sweet yet strict and imitating.

"Get over yourself. He was a bloody Crank and by offing him you have preserved him runnin’ wild and hurting others and himself. He asked you to do it, you said? Great. Don’t work yourself up about it and don’t make me feel guilty about not missing him just because you can’t stand by your actions."

The muddy ground was slick and wet, the cool air felt thick with the rain as Mary stood up and left, leaving Thomas alone in the wooden building, her words ringing in his ears, watching her disappear in the darkness of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly self-worth issues in this one, no major triggers, as far as I can see
> 
> TELL ME IF YOU NEED ME TO WARN ABOUT SPECIFIC THINGS PLEASE

A week or so later Thomas eventually found the guts to tell Brenda about his meeting with Mary. The dark haired girl sat on the ground, still working on her bracelet, back against a tree, cross-legged, listening with an empty expression as he explained.

After he’d finished she took a breath. “She kind of has a point.”

"What?"

"I mean, he was her brother but if she can’t remember him, why put that weight on her as well. I bet she’s lost enough people she actually had the opportunity to care about in this whole thing."

Pouting, Thomas looked at his hands. “So … you’re on her side” he husked.

"There are no sides, Thomas. It’s not that simple and you know that." 

Somewhere, there was laughter to their right and the sounds of underbrush being trampled down. The sun was warming their backs but not as violent and reckless, as they had gotten used to it n the Scorch. It was almost as if Glader’s Paradise shielded them from the vicious star.

"I’m gonna go tell Minho ‘bout it, maybe he understands me" he said bitterly and was up and leaving before Brenda reacted. Maybe she didn’t want to, Thomas thought.

\------------

He found Minho napping in his shed, the door open. Thomas didn’t knock, just entered as loudly as he could. The other Glader startled and came to a sit, gazing Thomas as if he wasn’t too sure who he was.

"Thomas" he then said, recognition drawing. "What can I do for ya, shank?"

A smile hurt Thomas’ features as he crouched down in front of the former Keeper.  
"Hey, man. Gotta talk to you about something." And he did. 

Told his friend that Mary, whose resemblance with their dead friend had been discussed between them a lot already, was actually Newt’s twin sister. Yet, she refused to feel sad about her brother’s fate. Contrary to Brenda, Minho looked scandalized as he heard the news, saying ‘oh’ and ‘what’ and ‘no way’.

When Thomas had ended it felt like the air inside the shack had warmed by a hundred degree.

After a short pause, in which Thomas looked at Minho, expecting and the other seemed to think what to say, Minho meant: “I see were she’s coming from, obviously. If someone told me I used to have a sibling, I wouldn’t wanna believe it as well.”

Before Thomas could protest, Minho continued: “But she could’ve at least felt sorry, no matter if he was her twin brother or the shucking Messiah or a whatever. You shot the poor boy in the brains and she doesn’t even have the heart to shed a single tear.”

They sat in silence, a lot of passing looks and sighing and not daring to talk anymore. 

Then, as if something changed, they began to talk. They shared stories of Newt, Minho from what had been before Thomas arrived at the Glade and Thomas about the day Newt had died. It was peaceful, even, to get it all off their hearts and in the end, they sat there, exhausted and drained but somehow, Thomas understood.

He didn’t feel like Mary had to feel sorry for Newt anymore. All the things they’d just talked about, she hadn’t heard any of them. The last time she’d seen her brother must’ve been years ago, and she didn’t even remember. Maybe Brenda had been right and he should stop trying to make her feel guilty for something she had no control over.

Thanking Minho, for something he didn’t have to elaborate, Thomas left to find the blond girl that was the manifestation of a ghost.

He found her sitting with few others, including Aris and Sally and Anastase. His feet felt like clay.

"Mary" he said and judging by the looks that greeted him from her friends, she must’ve told them about their meeting the previous night.

"What’s the matter, Thomas" she said, not as cold as he’d expected, lifting his spirits a bit.

"I just … can we talk alone?" he asked, even though he felt like he already knew the answer. The sun had almost set. He must have spent more time with Minho that he would’ve guessed.

"No" she said.

Sally put a grimace on her podgy face. Anastase and a few others laughed.

"Well, okay. I just wanted to tell you I am sorry, and -"

"You said that already, more than necessary."

"I know, I … see, I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. You’re right, I felt like klunk because I am the reason he’s dead but that doesn’t give me the right to want to make you feel the same." She nodded and some of the tenseness vanished from her face. She now looked tired.

"It’s okay" Mary finally said, her gaze softening by a great deal. "I know you miss him. It must be hard. Do I … do I look like him a lot?" There was a tremble in her voice, as if she was genuinely sorry for the first time and, even though it broke his heart, he nodded.

"Yes. You are almost exactly like him."

The other girls and boys had gone silent, the only one seeming to understand Aris, but he didn’t say anything.

"I’m sorry" Mary said. It helped. A bit. "Me too."

\------------

The following days Thomas was occupied. He helped the building squad turn some of the still very makeshift cave-like shacks into actual huts and accompanied the hunting patrols on a regular basis.

Doing something for the town seemed the only thing to keep himself from lingering on the past too much. Still, there were the nights, when the dark crept into his mind and bones and turned his world upside down, having him re-live the horrors of the past years. 

But it became rare that he mistook Mary for her brother.

It was sad, somehow, but their faces seemed to disappear. At one point he couldn’t remember the warmth of Chuck’s blood on his hands. He couldn’t seem to recall what Zart’s laugh had sounded like or the weight of Alby’s welcoming hand on his shoulder.

It was reviving, like he was lighter without knowing those things but it also had him question how long the sound of Teresa’s voice in his head would last. He missed her terribly. She had betrayed his trust, yes, but he could never shake the feeling off that there had been a deep connection between the two of them.

Mary and Thomas found themselves talking every once in a while. It wasn’t always about Newt but she asked a lot of things about him. He wasn’t fooled, she still didn’t care for her brother at all but Thomas was pretty sure, that she did it out of solidarity for him. And, honestly, talking about Newt to his twin sister was different than talking to Minho or Brenda or anyone else. It felt more real, like there was a part of his friend within her, listening and maybe finally realizing how much he mattered.

"Do you think he’s, ya know, somewhere ‘better’?" Mary said, drawing the quotation marks in the air. It was a very fresh day and the leaves that scattered the ground as they walked through the forest, crunched beneath their feet, white with frost.

Thomas shrugged, rounding a particularly nasty looking briar before rejoining with Mary.

"I don’t know" Thomas said. "I’ve never really thought about it."

"Really? With WICKED threatening your life 24/7 you never asked yourself what was gonna happen after your … part’s done?" She seemed surprised and part of him wanted to ask her if she’d thought about it. But he didn’t want to hear the answer.

"No, it’s just … I guess I never had the time, actually, to think more than five minutes ahead."

They picked a few berries, threw them in a basket. If the temperature was going to fall more, they would have to find other sources of vitamins. Thomas was all too happy to leave that problem to someone else.

"I think it makes it easier, to think that there’s some kind of Afterlife. It’s nice to imagine all the people we’ve lost are somewhere, safe and sound, right?"

The rational side of Thomas told him that Ben and Clint and Winston and all the others were all just bodies, rotting away in a damaged world, gone and lost but he nodded.

"Yeah, guess so."

"Did he, I mean my brother, did he have someone?" Mary suddenly asked, putting blueberries from her hands into the basket, dark red stains on her hands.

"He meant a lot to a lot of people."

"Oh, you know what a mean" Mary continued. The wind had coloured their faces a bright red and bit into their fingers with icy teeth.

Pictures popped up in Thomas’ mind, blurring his vision. Newt laughing, the bright green grass of the Glade, their former Glade leader by his side, looking at him in utter admiration. Alby and Newt, inseparable, the leader and the second in command. Then his arms around the blond boy, holding him back as Alby sacrificed himself so they would escape. He still felt how much Newt had trembled, hot tears falling onto Thomas’ arms, the yells in his ears.

"Yeah" Thomas said, his throat suddenly dry. "Yeah, he had someone. Died in the Glade."

Knowingly, the girl nodded, coming to a stand from her crouched position, wiping off needles and leaves from her knees. “Isn’t it nicer to imagine they are re-joined, somewhere, then?”

It was a nice thought.

\------------

Thomas spent the following night at Minho’s.

It was ridiculous but the other Glade’s presence made it feel less like an unbearable weight to carry. It felt like they could share the weight. 

From the very beginning, he and Minho had been close and even though Brenda and Thomas had grown to cherish and care for each other it was different with the former Runner.

It wasn't as if he didn't love Brenda or as if he didn't feel like every moment he spent with the girl was a treasure but there was something about spending time with Minho that was far beyond that.

It wasn't just that they had history, the Maze and the Trials and everything but there was a deep understanding he shared with the boy. They lay side by side, not yet touching but close enough to feel each other's warmth nonetheless.

“Sometimes” Minho said into the darkness. “It feels like they're all, like, behind a tree or somethin'. Just around the corner, just out of reach, ya know? As if I could just … reach for them and grab them and get them back here with us.”

Thomas nodded, even though Minho couldn't see him but the gesture felt right in that moment. Outside it was almost complete silence, just a few kids' hushed conversations, here and there someone breathing heavily, some muffled sobs or screams. Maybe in a year or two or five, everyone in the town would have a good night's sleep every single night. 

Thomas doubted it.

“So … you an' Brenda, then” Minho changed the subject. Thomas flushed though thankful that he could put his thoughts about Newt to rest, if only for a few moments.  
“She your girlfriend or something?”

There wasn't an answer. He didn't know what he and Brenda were. Best friends, probably. Something similar to what he used to have with Teresa. Maybe more, even. But apart from down in the tunnels, what seemed years ago, and the day they'd arrived at Glader's Paradise there'd hardly been any kind of romantic interaction between them. 

Minho let out a laugh, half nervous. “Has the cat got ya tongue, shank?” Thomas smirked. Somehow, the Glader's lingo just wouldn't die out.

“It's just … I don't know, man.” Thomas practically heard Minho smile and he didn't know how to feel about it.

“Good that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far! I always appreciate feedback and critique and tell me if you find any errors as I am not a native speaker.
> 
> Also I am thinking about writing a chapter from Minho's POV. Would you want that?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for
> 
> Depression (implied)  
> Death mention

They slept until the next morning when Aris, Sally and three men Thomas didn't know the names of pounded against the door demanding to see Minho and it kind of came naturally that Thomas stayed in the shed for a few more hours, just lying there and enjoying the peace before he got up and looked for Brenda.

“Hey, Tommy” Mary greeted him, as he walked past her. 

It felt like he'd swallowed acid.

“Morning.”

Brenda sat between Jorge and Gally at one of the tables that had been brought outside for breakfast but all food had been removed already. Thomas didn't bother. He would probably get himself something later.

“Hey there, amigo” Jorge said with a bright grin, Gally just gave him a curt nod.

Even after The Right Arm there was still bad blood between Thomas and the other Glader. But it didn't matter. The camp was big enough for the two to mostly avoid interacting. It wasn't a good system but it worked, and as Thomas sat down next to Jorge, Gally excused himself, got up and left. No one commented on it.

“Where have you been last night?” Brenda asked, seeing and she and Thomas usually shared a shed for the night. He shrugged. “I stayed with Minho.”

For a fracture of a heartbeat, Brenda's gaze fell but then the moment as over and Thomas couldn't even really remember it afterward. The bright morning sun didn't quite send it's warmth down yet and frost littered the ground like patches of early snow.

Anastase and a few other girls and women went by and Brenda joined them on a patrol so Thomas was left talking to Jorge about the man's favourite subject: where the shuck they were actually located.

“It is simple, really. I mean, not really but actually. Not actually simple but easy, I mean. It's what now, November at most? Months kind of didn't matter, back in the Scorch, ya know. All too hot and all too bright and all too filthy, whether it was April or December. But here, it's freezing right now. That is strange, isn't it? The world's been burned to ashes, like, a few years ago. Man, this gotta be like Greenland or some place. Did you know -”

Thomas didn't really listen but it was nice having Jorge nonetheless. The man knew more about the outer world than anyone else in the town and had provided them with a lot of information, after they'd been sent to the mysterious place behind the Flat Trans.

But then Jorge left too, having been called to help rebuild some of the houses the storm a few nights prior had damaged, the ones close to the forest, where branches had fallen off and destroyed the wooden structures.

Thomas, feeling antsy, went to find Minho and ask him if he could help or do anything useful with his energy. In times like this, a very small, very pathetic part of the boy missed running for his life.

He sprinted, unnecessarily, as he spotted Minho below the platform. The other waved at him, just as a group of younger boys and girls walked into the forest, obviously on Minho's command. It was impressive how Minho had kind of taken the lead in their new home right away. As if the former Keeper had just waited for his opportunity to shine his light. 

Pride was what Thomas felt as he smiled at the other.

“Hey, sleepy-head” Minho greeted. “Have you even snacked yet?”

They went off to the storage and after a few words with Frypan and the others that had found their place at the boy's side, they went to look for a nice place to eat their sandwiches and chat.

A few feet out of the actual town was a pathway leading down to the river. In the early days, some shanks had found an uprooted tree and since then used it as a bridge to cross the stream. They sat on the trunk, enjoying their breakfast, their feet a few inches above the icy, rushing water.

“How did the Mrs take the news you spend the night over at uncle Minho's?”

Thomas laughed, not because it was particularly funny but because Minho just made him laugh a lot and he enjoyed laughing without reason because it stood against being sad with reason. It was cold but they had jackets provided by WICKED, alongside the wooden planks and tools and some books and other things they might need. Thomas still refused to be even a little bit thankful, though.

“Jealous, what else could she be when I'm up and away with such a handsome shank as you.”

“Still sounds weird you usin' the lingo.”

“Shut up, slinthead” Thomas defended himself half-heartedly. Minho suddenly made a gesture as if he was about to throw Thomas off the tree and into the river, having the other shriek in surprise. Then they both had to go to the riverbank from laughing so hard they were actually in danger of falling into the river.

\------------

Hence Minho being kind of in charge, they couldn't stay away for too long and so the two former Runners returned, still joking and elbowing each other just shortly after Minho's prank.

Tullio, Josephine and Mary found Thomas and took him for collecting wood for the fires and Minho was surrounded by a bunch of kids almost instantly. The only thing they could do was look at each other as they were dragged off into different directions.

Arms full with firewood, Thomas returned hours later, the jacket around his hips, feeling too warm from working. He slumped down on the bench between the girl Liu and a grey-haired women he didn't recognize. Brenda sat down on the opposite side and they shared a quick meal. 

Luckily, Brenda didn't mention the short conversation they'd had at breakfast.

Somehow, Frypan and the other cooks had managed to make enough deer-and-squirrel-soup for the whole village. Usually, small groups and families organized each meal themselves, the cooks merely providing the ingredients.

That afternoon, Thomas was on the look-out with Alexander, former Slicer. He was broad-shouldered, long haired boy his age with a loud voice and a Russian accent. It was funny and kind of sad how many Gladers Thomas hadn't even known before they reached Glader's Paradise. In his darker moments he thought of all those he would never get to meet anymore.

Up on the platform, looking over the camp like the birds that chirped in the trees, Alexander recalled some freak story about how he and a hunting patrol had found and caught a hare bare-handed. 

At the end of his story, the boy let out a laugh that sounded gigantic, like the roar of some giant animal but also very genuine and so Thomas laughed with him.

He himself had made the rule about at least two people being on the watch at a time. The first few days after the platform was built, it had only been one kid at a time and as it had been Thomas' turn, the boy was too overwhelmed by loneliness and isolation up in the trees that he wouldn't have noticed a Berg landing in the middle of the clearing. It was just too easy to lose oneself in grief and memories and guilt.

Alexander did his bear-laugh again but Thomas didn't know the joke so he just smiled at the other before turning his attention back to the skies above the camp.  
Eventually, his thoughts returned to Newt and the boy's final wish and so Thomas called the end to their shift to distract himself with one of his friends and actual physical work.

\------------

Thomas spent the rest of his day baby sitting some of the smaller children when their parents, older siblings or guardians had work to do. The group sat in a semi-circle on the sandy floor of one of the more central meeting buildings. 

He'd made sure everyone wore warm clothes, as the building was more like a shelter that would be located on a meadow for horses or cows. It was simple, had only three walls and no seating furniture whatsoever. Luckily, the cold evening wind came from behind the shelter, otherwise they would've frozen to death by then.

Somehow, Thomas wondered, it didn't bother him that the kids asked so many questions he'd usually found intimidating or triggering. It was the innocence, maybe, the pure curiosity that kind of reminded him of himself.

“How many Glad-... Gladers used to be in the – in the Maze?” Rudolf, a freckled, ginger-haired boy of maybe four years asked while simultaneously being able to annoy his two years older sister Alice by repeatedly tapping her on the shoulder.

“There were like fifty Gladers, when I arrived, at least.” 

Then the questions came similar to a waterfall, rushing out of the kid's mouths, flowing over Thomas as he tried his best to answer.

“Did they all die?”

“No, course not! You see there are -”

“Did WICKED kill 'em?”

“Basically, but -”

“When's dinner?”

“It's like 8pm.”

“How do you know that there are no clocks here, Thomas!”

“I just do, it's kind of hard to explain as -”

“I'm bored.”

“We could play a game then, which of you are familiar with -”

“Stop hitting me, Rudolf!”

If Thomas had searched for something that would occupy him fully, he'd found it. Keeping the eight or nine young kids from biting each other or running off was a full-time job. He couldn't imagine anyone taking that responsibility voluntarily.

On the other hand, now that they were finally kind of safe in a kind of normal environment it seemed less mental to think of having kids. In the burned and sick world outside, it was unthinkable to put a young child through growing up. If it would ever make it that long, anyway.

Brenda and Sonya stopped by, half an hour later, much to the kid's pleasure as they could ask more questions that Thomas would not have known the answers to.  
One by one, the kids were being picked up and as Rudolf and Alice were finally taken by their grandmother, Thomas felt as if his eyelids had weights attached to them, making it hard not to curl into a ball and sleep on the floor just then. 

Sonya, ruffling her long, red hair and yawning, announced she was going to pass out and would therefore hit the bed and Brenda and Thomas followed suit and made their way to their shed in one of the outer circles of the camp.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> sleep paralysis  
> night terrors  
> hallucinations  
> panic attacks  
> blood

He dreamed of Newt. 

He dreamed of the boy running through the Maze with him, as the walls tumbled to the floor around them. He dreamed of the coldness in his stare when he was marked as 'not immune'. 

He dreamed of the boy's short-temperedness and of Newt's laugh and one dream jumbled over another and they mixed and melted together and when Thomas opened his eyes, he was paralysed.

He couldn't move. His arms, his legs, his head, it felt unreal and as if not connected to his thoughts anymore. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't bring his throat to work. Was he even breathing?

A terrifying realisation hit him: this had to be another Trial. WICKED must have been monitoring them, only waiting for the to feel safe, hopeful and then bring them to their knees again. 

It had all been too easy to be true. 

Internally, Thomas was kicking and clawing and yelling, but his body lay stiff upon the bedding, Brenda next to him, still vast asleep. 

He wanted to call for help, warn the others, tell them to hide, make sure his friends were safe but his body was useless. 

It had all been for nothing. All they'd endured, all the deaths and sacrifices, all for WICKED to stimulate their killzones. The pain was like his insides were on fir. He heard footsteps outside, the laughter of adults, the clack, clack, rattle of a Griever, the metallic sounds of menacing instruments. 

After all, they would dissect his brain and finish it.

Anxiety had a tight grip around the boy's throat, strangling him until his breath became ragged and uneven. His periphery began to blacken on the edges. He saw people standing around him, green suits and masks and goggles, eyeing him shamelessly. 

He couldn't understand a word they said.

Thomas still couldn't move, tears were now streaming down his slack face, his heart about to explode with fear. The formless, horrifying, faceless head of a Griever, slimy and disgusting with metal spikes sticking out, came into his vision. Thomas was sobbing, his chest hurt with pressure, his head spinning with grogginess and hatred. 

He was going to die. A part of him, the one that spoke with a voice as distrustful and unsettling as the sounds of two blades grinding against one another, asked him, if this must have been what Newt had felt like, when he'd shot him in the face. Thomas felt like he was going to be sick.

He couldn't … he couldn't think … couldn't move and everything blinked in and out of existence, making him dizzy. 

It was all … it was beginning to hurt his head so much and suddenly the WICKED people changed form into Chuck and Teresa, bloodstained and weary-eyed. “Help us” they said, a sound close to a moan. A pang of guilt gripped Thomas' heart like an iron clamp. 

“Help us, Thomas. Save us. Save us, please!”

The Griever's face twisted and turned like a pluck had been pulled in a bathtub and was replaced by Alby's head, a pain-ridden grimace rather than a human face. “Why did you let me do this, Thomas!”

The boy on the bed wanted to up and run but he was still unable to gain control over his limbs. It was maddening.

“You could've saved us, Thomas! You should have saved us!” All three said in chorus, like a sick song and Thomas was overcome by sobs, though his body stayed frozen. H was about to choke on the sadness.

Panic welled inside him as his surroundings changed to a desert city. He begged and screamed, but not a sound left the boy. His body had turned against him. 

“Why?” The sound was like a tortured animal's wail. “Why, Tommy, why!”

No, please, no, Thomas thought, tried to free himself from whatever force had him pinned to the sandy ground, trapped his panicking mind inside of an unmoving body.

A shadow fell across the boy and he was about to black out in the darkness but then a face emerged, the sad face of a blond boy with brown eyes and a circular wound between them.

Thomas wanted to throw up, his insides were being cooked, adrenaline having his heart pump faster and faster and he felt his pulse in his throat and ears.

Slowly, blood dripped from the bullet wound, landing on the paralysed boy's forehead, warm and burning like acid. “How could you do this” Newt asked. “How could you shoot me? I thought we were friends, Tommy.”

I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Another drop of blood, Newt's eyes watered. Please, no, stop this, I'm sorry, Newt, I'm sorry! Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me!

*******

Thomas shot up into a sitting position, breathing heavily and hungrily, as if he'd been drowning. He was wet with sweat, his heart racing and hands trembling.

He put them on his face. It was hot and pulsing. It had been a dream. Somewhere in his mind the word 'sleep paralysis' popped up. 

Brenda woke up with a soft sigh that turned into “Thomas, what happened? What's wrong?”

But he couldn't answer, his throat felt constricted, still and the horrors of what he'd just lived through ached in his heart.

For almost a week, Thomas had been spared of night terrors. He'd almost gotten used to it. He began to weep and cry. 

As Brenda took him into her arms he unconsciously wished it was Minho but it calmed him nonetheless.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> self loathing  
> depression (implied)

It took him a long time to calm down enough to stand up. Hours, probably. Warmth was creeping into the shed already, so it had to be late enough for the sun to peek over the trees.

Brenda had stayed with Thomas the whole time. 

He hadn't told her what had happened. There was no need to. 

She knew it was the memories, it was nightmares and fear and she saw the look in his eyes as if he'd just killed Newt all over again, and she was smart enough to stay silent and let her friend sob.

A few people had passed by the building, stopped, but carried on. Everyone knew. Everyone was haunted. They had their own kind of virus within the camp.

“I'm gonna go get you something to drink. You hungry?”

Thomas shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed-ish wooden bench with a blanket and moss on it. 

“I'm not.” His voice sounded like he'd not spoken in forever, dry and kind of off.

“Okay. Stay here, I'll be right back” she said, crouched down in front of him and pressed a kiss on his forehead and then left.

As soon as the door closed, Thomas fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Colours and lights swam in front of his eyes and he blinked them away. He couldn't wait for the water, Brenda had promised. 

The door opened, but Thomas knew it was Minho. Instantly, he felt a hundred times better, his mortifying dream fading from the spotlight.

“You look terrible” the other boy said, presumably standing by the door, out of Thomas' periphery.

“Thanks, shuck-face” Thomas said, secretly relieved that the other tried to approach the situation with humor.

Minho chuckled, but it sounded a bit too forced. Nevertheless, it felt reviving that his best friend was there, caring for him and looking out for him. Warmth, unrelated to the ever rising sun, spread through Thomas.

“Where's the missus?” Minho asked, suspicious. He sat down next to Thomas, more a sound than a picture, and laid down on his back as well, crossing his arms behind his head. He reeked of sweat but it didn't bother Thomas.

“Fetching me some water.”

“There's the glorious Runner, having his girlfriend go grocery shopping for him” Minho teased and shifted, so he playfully bumped into Thomas who erupted into a few giggles but his inside was a familiar emptiness.

“Shut up.”

Too soon, Brenda returned, a displeased look upon her face for a split second, vanishing into blackness due to Thomas sitting up too fast, his bloodstream having difficulties to adjust to that kind of shift in dimensions. He thirstily took the cup from her and downed the refreshing liquid. 

“You finally ready to do some work, shank?” Minho asked as his friend handed back the empty glass to Brenda and if Thomas woudn't have known better it would have sounded like something close to disappointment in his friend's words.

“Sure, yeah. Any jobs for me, boss?” Thomas smiled weakly.

Brenda groaned. Something, that was probably supposed to sound annoyed but ended up as the sound of a competitive lioness. “Just stop flirting already, jeez. Thomas, you come with me and Harriet and Logan, hunting.”

She looked from a flustered Thomas to an equally blushing Minho and continued: “And you, Mister, go get your butt somewhere useful and do... whatever it is you do all day.”

No reaction.

“Go now, shoo!”

Completely and utterly taken aback, the normally short-tempered and mouthy Minho nodded, got up and left without looking back, leaving a seemingly pleased yet kind of hurt looking Brenda and a still flushing Thomas.

*******

When Minho returned from dinner after a long day of patrolling, his favourite activity as it was almost like running the Maze sometimes, something he just seemed born to do, he found Thomas sitting in his shed. 

As his friend entered, the boy wiped at his face, looking away, eyes puffy and red.

“You didn't really go hunting, did you?” Minho asked, his spirits sinking immediately, taking off his thick WICKED jacket before sitting down diagonally from Thomas, legs under him, their knees almost touching. 

“No I … I told Brenda I'd catch up to them … but- “ He choked out a sob.

“Shuck, Thomas” Minho murmured, heartbroken.

“I'm sorry, I kinda just went here, to hide, I think.” He shrugged, letting out a gurgled, pathetic laugh but stopped, as his eyes met Minho's and saw how utterly worried the other looked.

“If you'd just opened your shuck mouth I would have stayed with you.”

Thomas' face hardened. 

“It's my problem to deal with, not yours.”

Care changed to anger and Thomas watched as Minho basically snarled at him: “What even, Thomas! I don't want you to do that again, okay? We've already been there.”

The other was shaking, nodded, shaking more. “I know, I know” he whispered, his voice fragile and thin. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”

“Yeah, you better be sorry, slinthead.”

Thomas felt a little better, when Minho's voice turned sarcastic. It felt more normal. More real. Every time he blinked, though, the horrors of the previous night re-appeared before his inner eye.

He saw the WICKED employees, the Griever, his friends. He heard their accusations and they were what he was secretly telling himself over and over again. 

If only he would've tried harder. It was for him, that they were gone. He would never be able to forgive himself.

His friend standing up had Thomas snap out of it. Minho looked angered, still.

“Sorry” Thomas said again, louder this time. Minho curled his lips into a half smile. “Yeah, okay.”

“No, I really am. I won't … I'll stay this time. Promise.”

“Yeah, okay.” Thomas knew Minho didn't believe him. The feeble trust that had built between the two friends again would not take another betrayal. “Can I stay for the night?” 

Thomas said, an offer of peace, almost. 

But Minho just shrugged, face indifferent. “Whatever” he said and that was that and they didn't talk the rest of the evening. 

Thomas didn't sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter's the one from Minho's POV. Prepare for Angst and flashbacks to the mentioned "We've been there already"!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> Nightmares  
> Implied death

Minho didn't really sleep either but he also didn't want to talk to Thomas or anyone else. Instead, he sat propped against the wooden wall, watching his friend on his bed, breathing too fast to be asleep but laying completely still in the soft light of the night.

Minho let his head fall back and softly thumb against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. 

He was so frustrated. 

Why did Thomas have to play the martyr all the time? He could help, he wanted to help so badly, but the other just wouldn't let him any close and it bothered him a lot.

He used to be the Keeper of the Runners, respected, running an unsolvable Maze full of deadly half-machine creatures. And now he couldn't even fix his best friend.

He closed his eyes.

A heartbeat later, the former Glader found himself in a forest, the light of a setting sun turning the air orange and warm.

“Thomas?” he heard himself ask. He remembered this scene. It haunted him. He didn't want to be there.

Absent would've been an underestimation. Thomas, usually brave and headstrong, had shrunk into something so pathetic that it made Minho physically sick with worry.

The boy avoided everyone, even him, and it hurt more than the lightning back in the Scorch.

He skipped the meals, didn't go on patrol, didn't talk or respond to any kind of help offering from him or Brenda or anyone else. 

“It's been weeks now, shuck-face, you can't go on like this” Minho said into the forest, seemingly to no one. But somehow, he knew his friend was close to him. It was like, a kind of electric signature, Minho could feel. As if they were on kindred frequencies.

Eventually, Thomas, eyes glazed over and wet, skinny and pale, emerged from behind a tree. 

Minho felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Brenda had told him, that Thomas hadn't returned to their shared shed in two days. Had the shank been hiding in the woods for two days straight? Without food and, as it seemed, without sleep as well.

“Buggin' hell, Thomas” Minho gasped and jogged to the other, putting his hands on Thomas' shoulders. Whether it was to stabilize Thomas or to support himself was unclear.

“What is happening to you, mate.”

Thomas looked to the floor, something that had kind of become his signature gesture over the last few weeks. His dark hair looked greasy and his clothes were dirty.

A bird cried out in alarm as Thomas stumbled alongside Minho, almost tripping over a surfaced root.

They made their way deeper into the forest until Thomas collapsed onto a disrooted tree, Minho sitting down next to him.

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but the sun merely turned the sky into a slightly darker shade of lilac.

“You gotta talk to me, man. Else, I can't help ya.”

Thomas coughed, said nothing.

“At least … tell Brenda” felt like drinking rubbing alcohol but he said it nonetheless. If Thomas felt more safe with the girl, it was okay with Minho, as long as he would stop torturing himself.

“We care about ya, you know? Seeing you like this is terrible.” He didn't mean 'we' as in 'Brenda and him'. He meant it as 'him' and him alone. Thomas was, what Minho cared most for in the entire world.

And the other just didn't see that.

“I'm your best friend, Thomas. Just tell me what's going on. I wanna help, okay?”

He'd tried it ever since Thomas had started acting weird and absent. Tried to get him to tell him what was bothering him. Every answer was the same. A teary-eyed look that was like the personification of 'sorry'.

Thomas seemed to be surrounded by an aura of fear, disgust and guilt, but he finally talked. Maybe it was because he was exhausted from hiding in the forest for two days. Maybe Minho had finally gotten through to him. Maybe he was just tired of it all.

“They're all dead.” It sounded as if the boy hadn't spoken in a long time, his voice throaty.

Minho wasn't surprised. He just listened.

“Newt, Chuck, Alby, Teresa, Winston, Zart, Jeff, all of them. It's all my fault.” 

Before Minho could protest, Thomas turned to him, eyes so sad that they took the physical ability to speak from his friend.

“I helped creating that place! I probably planned Chucks death in a shuckin' conference hall. Maybe I wrote the code that told the Griever to take Zart. Newt- ”

The Minho that was dreaming remembered bitterly as his dream-self said what Thomas must have dreaded. 

“You couldn't possibly have had anything to do with who was immune and who wasn't.”

Thomas should have cried, but he didn't. As if his features had been frozen,or chiselled into stone he stared at Minho. 

“You have no idea, Minho.”

“What're you talking about?” There was discomfort in his voice. Anxiety. Like he felt something was terribly off. Minho tried to wake up. He didn't want to hear that again.

“Newt is dead because of me. He got out of the Crank Palace and found me. And I shot him in the face.”

The words came fast, clear, like Thomas was quoting a piece of literature.

Contrary to what Thomas had looked before, he now looked downright terrified. His young face seemed trapped, blank, dead, almost grey in the fading light. Minho's heart had stopped. He felt like his body was dissolving into darkness.

“That's not true” his hollow voice asked. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe and panic built up inside him, he couldn't breathe.

“The note he gave me, it read 'Kill me, Thomas. If you've ever been my friend, kill me'.”

“You're lying!” Minho was hysterical now, Thomas remained scarily calm.

“He begged me to kill him, to shoot him. Said, 'please, Tommy, please'. I pulled the trigger on him.”

Hot tears were streaming down Minho's face and he wanted to stand up and run away because this was just some very sick trial and this wasn't Thomas and if he ran fast enough he would get to the shuck-faces behind this and break every single bone in their bodies.

If only he would've known that that was what Thomas was most afraid of. 

That Minho would leave him now. That he would be disgusted by him or hate him. 

His dreaming self screamed at his other version to tell Thomas that he would never ever leave him, no matter what happened. But he was doomed to watch.

Suddenly, Thomas wrapped his arms around Minho and pulled him into an embrace before crying into the other's shoulder. “I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Minho, I'm sorry” Thomas sobbed and even though Minho's insides revolted and threatened to die on him, he returned the hug and closed his eyes, calming his breath that, at some point, had become fast and ragged.

Part of him wanted to shove Thomas away, beat the boy up for lying, for hiding it from him, for not telling him, yell at him that he had had the right to know, that he'd known Newt for three years and that he couldn't breathe.

“I didn't … I didn't want to, ya gotta be- … believe me … he begged … he begged me and … oh god.”

Minho couldn't say 'it's okay' because it wasn't. Or 'it's gonna be alright' because it would never be alright again. But he said “it's not your fault” and “you had no choice” and it sort of seeped into Thomas and eventually he stopped crying and Minho just held the other boy in his arms until the sky turned dark.

“Forgive me, Minho. Please” Thomas whispered. He was shaking. 

Minho said nothing. He couldn't forgive Thomas, not right then anyway. Before him in the darkness he imagined Newt like he remembered him from the last time they'd met. Skinny, filthy, a caricature of the second in command. 

Emptiness choked him and threatened to rip him out of the forest and into another dream, something more horrible, a fantasy he had not dared to imagine. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the sound of a gun being fired.

He opened his eyes and was back in his shed. His whole body ached from sleeping sitting upright. Minho stood up, stretched his arms and back before walking over to the bed. Thomas had fallen asleep eventually. He looked peaceful. Almost.

With another check on his friend, Minho lay down on the floor besides the bed. Not much more comfortable than the previous place, but he was too tired to get somewhere else and he was afraid to wake his friend when he would sleep in the bed as well. It was about time that poor boy got some actual rest, he told himself. But that wasn't the reason why he would not be able to face Thomas.

His eyelids felt heavy, the dream had drained him instead of recharging him. 

Just before he drifted into another sleep, Minho said something into the darkness he should have said weeks ago. “I forgive you, Thomas.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> scars

When Thomas woke up, Minho was already gone. Faint sunlight that smelled of the strangely already familiar smells of breakfast in the camp filled the small shed.

He got up, his feet touching the ground. He'd forgotten to take his shoes off, the previous evening. He ruffled his hair, deciding to go wash himself up.

There were plans for a system of small streams throughout the camp as well as a committee that was discussing the option of building a well. 

Then, none of the plans had actually gone official, so the villagers had to go down to the river to wash and get water to drink and cook. Although, things would get difficult soon when it got too cold to bath in the water.

Afraid Brenda was still sleeping, and not really wanting to face or talk to her, Thomas decided against going to get his towel or fresh clothes and just left Minho's and headed straight for the creek.

The few people that were awake already, greeted him or at least nodded and Thomas soon regretted that he hadn't gone get his jacket. 

Already freezing, Thomas reached a spot by the river, surrounded by thick trees that had been climbed by ivy. Much like the Maze walls, yet it had a very different vibe to it.  
Instead of dead stone it was very alive trees.

Thomas made a mental note to talk to the building groups to hurry up, because as he was nude and set foot into the river, he jumped back, cursing. It was definitely too cold to bath already. Instead, he soaked his t-shirt with water and used it to scrub himself clean. 

He wished he would've taken his time to boil the water in the kitchens, like most people did.

As the cold water was cleaning his skin, his mind cleared as well. Although, he forbade his thoughts to wander. He wouldn't have it.

Minho was right, Thomas couldn't again shut everyone out and hide. Especially not his only two friends he had.

He put his pullover and pants back on, longing to get back into the warmth of a shed. 

Did Ava Paige know temperatures would fall this much? For a second he believed, this could be the actual last trial. See who would survive the cold after all the heat.

It was a morbid, bitter thought as he wandered back, taking his time, his fingertips brushing against frost covered barks of trees and crinkling leaves on bushes. 

The cold slowly vanished and was replaced by chill warmth as the sun creeped over the sky. Thomas felt guilty for just staying in Minho's hut all day instead of doing his chores, but he was drained and sleep deprived. 

He'd stopped by his and Brenda's, relieved to see the girl had already left, and went in to get his half finished set of wooden plates and spent the day carving, cutting and chipping, the stack growing and by the late afternoon, Thomas cradled fifteen plates in his arms and carried them over to the kitchens to a very happy and thankful Frypan.

In exchange, the tall guy made Thomas a sandwich because even though Thomas didn't say anything, the cook must have noticed his belly grumbling.

“Ya should really try to eat more regularly” criticized Frypan but with a warm smile and a pat on Thomas' shoulder as he devoured the sandwich. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Good that.”

A fresh wave of appreciation for his Glader friend rolled over him as he quite contently finished his meal.

\------------

A few hours later, Thomas was woken up by Minho entering and closing the door with a creaking sound and then him cursing.

“Shuck, sorry, man” said the former Runner and it was too dark to actually see it but Thomas was sure there had to be a smug smile on his lips. 

“No” he said, groggily, stretching his back and getting up from Minho's bed. “I'm sorry, I didn't actually plan on fallin' asleep here. This's so impolite.”

“I don't mind” said Minho and Thomas, relieved without having known he had been tense before, let himself fall back onto the bed.

Minho, his back to Thomas, took off his jacket and then shoes and shirt. Thomas sucked in the cool air. Scars snaked across Minho's back and arms. Physical reminders of the lighting that had struck his friend in the Scorch. When Thomas had thought his whole world had collapsed as Minho fell to his knees, burned, screaming.

He shook his head, as Minho sat down next to him. 

“Not that pretty, I know, but not as if it's the weather to show off skin, anyway.” There was a nervousness in Minho's voice, as if he was embarrassed and he crossed his arms insecurely in front of his scarred chest.

He lay down on his back, his hip brushing against Thomas' while the other made space for him. Minho reached for the blanket at the foot end of his bed and hastily pulled it over the both of them.

His thoughts slow from sleep, but feeling more awake than in a long time, Thomas slowly extended his arm and followed the line of a particularly thick scar down Minho's arm with his fingers. The other flinched but didn't protest.

“I'm so sorry” said Thomas, a vile taste in his mouth. Minho rolled his head over so that he was facing Thomas, who had curled up on his side.

“Don't be. It was those WICKED shucks.” 

He smiled but it was cracked at the edges and Thomas finally understood the pain Minho must have felt every time he'd seen Thomas fake it. It felt like betrayal, like mistrust, like he wasn't worth knowing what Minho actually felt and it burned like fire and like rage and sadness within Thomas' guts.

“You still blame me, though, don't ya?” Thomas said very matter-of-factly, leaving no time for Minho to deny. “It's alright, ya know? I shouldn't have let you out of my sight, back there.”

He knew, the dark-haired boy was about to protest that he was very well fit to look after himself but Thomas silenced him with a pleading look.

“Listen, I know, but you're my best friend and I was so focused on finding Teresa and all that, that I completely spaced out. And I'm sorry. Just let me be sorry for that, okay?”  
Minho seemed to consider, a little distracted probably, because Thomas had returned to the scars on the other boy's arms.

He was following the curves of the white lines with only the tips of his fingers and he wondered how Minho's skin could be so warm under his touch when the air around them was beginning to cool down rapidly. 

“Promise me something” Minho interrupted the silence and Thomas stopped his gentle tracing game and looked the other in the eye. 

Suddenly aware of his actions, Thomas felt the color creeping into his face.

“Okay” answered Thomas, his voice a whisper.

“Promise me to start looking after yourself and not just after everyone else.”

It didn't hurt as much as it would have if it had been anyone but Minho to say it. He blinked, slowly, his eyelids heavy.

“I'll try” he said with a nod and a lopsided smile because despite his pride it was good to know that someone cared for his well-being.

“Thanks” said Minho. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around Thomas. “Seriously. Thank you.”

“Good that” was Thomas' response, his heart skipping a beat as he was held by Minho and suddenly, like lightning, it became very, very clear to him that this was where he belonged.

“Minho” he said, surprised by how steady the name came out despite him shaking internally. 

He wanted to tell the other Glader, now, about his realization. About how he valued his opinion more than anyone else's and how he would always, always be his best friend and how he liked to be held in Minho's arms and that he was still so incredibly beautiful in spite of the scars and that he loved how Minho's bed smelled of the two of them.  
But the Keeper of the Runners didn't answer. His breathing had slowed down and he had buried his face in Thomas' hair, asleep.

Just a tiny bit relieved, Thomas smiled to himself and pressed even closer against Minho. 

The phantom faces that used to haunt him were blurred out as he drifted into sleep, protected by the rhythm of Minho's beating heart so close to his own.

He could tell him the next morning or next week or next year. It didn't really matter. They had all the time in the world, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sounds a lot like an ending. No worries, it's not, but there's gonna be like 2 months between this chapter and the next one. A lot can happen in 2 months.


	9. Chapter 9

Fascinating. Time. How minutes could stretch into hours and hours and months could be folded and smeared into tiny fragments of seconds.

It was merely a heartbeat and two months later that Thomas woke up, his limbs tangled with Minho's, the ice cold air freezing into white clouds in sync with their breath.

The two boys were cocooned into the blanket, trying to keep the cold out and the warmth in.

Thomas closed his eyes again, trying to steal another few minutes of sleep and peace but Minho already stirred. He felt the other's hands move behind his back.

“Buggin' cold” Minho yawned, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Good morning to you too” Thomas teased. 

Minho ignored his comment and rather than doing Thomas a favor and staying in bed a little longer, he rolled around and sat up almost instantly.

Thomas wouldn't call it an arrangement, what he and Minho had but it was close to one. 

They shared a bed, shared their warmth and physical comfort. But it was not as Thomas had anticipated. They weren't a couple. They were just … there were no words for it but it left Thomas with a hole in his chest and an ache in his head, despite the joy he felt whenever Minho cradled him in his strong arms or when he ran his fingers through the other's hair. 

Minho was tying his shoes, putting on a sweater over his shirt he'd worn to bed. Thomas watched him. He'd given up hiding his staring a month and a half ago.

He finally cared about himself and, ironically, Minho didn't seem to care about Thomas enough in return. He made himself so vulnerable and all he gained was indifference compared to what he craved as soon as they left the hut. 

“Minho” Thomas tried again, picking up a tought from months ago.

“What's the matter?”

Thomas looked at his hands as he sat up, slowly, fiddling with the leather wristband Brenda had given him. He remembered her tinkering with it what seemed like ages ago. She'd put it around his arm as he'd packed his things to move into Minho's shed. 

She'd known and even though he thought he saw her wipe at her eyes, she'd smiled and reassured him they had her 'blessing'. So much for that. 

He didn't feel blessed at all with how things were going. He felt cheated.

Minho was in a hurry. Thomas suspected he planned on going for a quick run before council meeting with the other leading figures of the village. Old habits, he supposed.

“Thomas, what is it?” Minho said again, this time more worried, actually stopping stretching his legs and examining the other boy that said on the bed, cross legged, looking miserable and hopeless.

“Is it nightmares again?” Minho guessed, a frown crossing his face like a shower of rain.

“No, it's alright. Just go running, I'll get us some breakfast for when you're back.”

Thomas tried his best to smile, apparently halfway fooling the Asian boy, who shrugged, throwing a last concerned look at Thomas and then opened the door and vanished into the cold, white morning light.

As soon as the door fell shut, Thomas fell back into bed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, groaning. 

The more days passed the harder it got for him saying the words that would break the routine between him and Minho. So instead, he suffered silently, like he'd learned to the day he was snatched away from his mother.

But instead of dwelling on it, he decided to get up, get ready and find Mary, who he was supposed to keep watch with.

It was easier now, that he'd begun to forget what Newt's voice had sounded like to talk to Mary. He was trying to differentiate the two of them. Forgetting was simple, after all. 

\------------

He found the girl talking to a younger girl with short curly hair Thomas didn't recognize outside her shed from where Thomas could hear the rushing of the stream close by. 

Leaves crunched beneath his feet and the WICKED jacket didn't provide as much comfort as it used to.

“Hey, Tommy” grinned Mary. He didn't her an echo of her brother. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

The young girl seemed annoyed but didn't say anything. Thomas' mind was too occupied by Minho and he didn't care.

Wordlessly, not because he didn't have the words to say anything but because Mary wasn't the one he wanted to say them to, the two teenagers went the the outlook outside of town. 

The wooden platform had been whitened with frost and shimmered in the low morning sun.

“What's eating you, then?” Mary eventually asked after about an hour of silence up in the tree where the cold wind had perfect opportunity to freeze the two kids half to death.

In response, Thomas' frown deepened. He archer his back that he leaned against a branch with. 

“Okay, then. Is it something about my brother?” 

“Why does everyone think it's an invitation to a guessing game if I don't answer the first time?” Thomas complained, furrowing his brows and having Mary bark a laugh at him.

“Maybe, if you weren't so silent, people wouldn't need to ask you all these useless questions in order to get the information? Maybe just, I don't know, talk to us on your own, for a change?”

His cheeks reddened, only partly because of the cold. 

“You know nothing okay, so shut it. You don't know me” he hissed, crossing his arms before his chest. It angered him that the blonde acted all high and mighty after she had pretty much not even talked to him the last months. Probably he was to blame to, living his days in a haze just living from one night with Minho to another. He hadn't initiate any conversations with her either.

“Well excuse me trying to help” she said, exaggeratedly throwing her hands in the air.

“I didn't ask you to” Thomas responded coolly. 

“Yeah, well, won't bloody happen again.”

Her profile looked too familiar for him to ignore the growing pain in his chest. 

They sat out their shift for another hour then Alexander and Tullio took over, greeting Thomas. He showed them a half-hearted smile before heading straight for the kitchens.

He'd forgotten about the breakfast he'd meant to prepare for Minho.

Chances were that the boy was already off to the meeting, or whatever activities came after that and Thomas would be doomed sitting in the shed until the late afternoon when he and Minho had planned to go patrolling.

It was hilarious how much it bugged him that apart from the nights, they were still pretty much the same. They goofed around and joked and worked and fought but it wasn't what Thomas wanted, not after Minho had made it possible for him to actually want more. 

It made his head dizzy and slow and drove him crazy.

To his surprise, Liu was waiting for him outside of the kitchens, leaned against the wooden structure, wrapped in a way too big jacket. At least he supposed she was waiting for him, as she pushed herself up from the wall to meet him halfway.

“Hey, shuck-face” the young kid said.

“Do you even know what that means?” Thomas tried sounding annoyed but actually seeing the dark-haired girl brightened his spirits almost immediately. He even stopped fidgeting with Brenda's bracelet. A nervous tick he'd developed over the last two months to keep his hands occupied when they weren't allowed to draw on their favorite canvas.  
“Minho wants me to tell you to come to the place and meet up.”

Thomas felt a pang of guilt. The place. The place where Thomas had declared the missing part of their trio dead at last. The place where he could've lost Minho, too.  
“Why doesn't he tell me that himself?” Thomas asked, now actually annoyed and again lacing the fingers of his right hand through the leather band on the other wrist, tugging at it.

“I don't know. Didn't ask.” She was bolder than she'd been when they'd arrived. She was one of the many orphans and despite her young age, she did pretty well. 

 

“Alright. Thanks for delivering the message, Liu.”

“Hey, any time, shank” she grinned.

\------------

The place was coated in white frost like a thin half see-through blanket. Minho was flipping stones, or rather just throwing them into the gurgling water of the river, crouched down.

Thomas knew better than to sneak up on him.

“Hey” he announced himself, having Minho turn around, surprised to see that the other had been crying. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair tussled, nose and cheeks reddened and wet.

“Hey.” Minho's voice sounded like he'd screamed his throat raw.

Almost instantly, Thomas was by his friend's side, putting a hand on Minho's shoulder, the fabric of the jacket feeling cold and dead underneath his fingers.

Neither of the boys moved. They just sat squatted down in the cold next to a stream in the forest. So out of the ordinary yet so familiar to Thomas. Minho made no attempt to talk. The urge to physically reassure Minho that it was okay sharing his fears with Thomas was pounding in his head.

His hand moved, slowly, towards Minho's bare neck. Cold fingers ghosting over the other's warm skin. How could his skin be so warm in the crisp air, Thomas thought. 

As if he'd touched an invisible trigger, Minho fell to his knees and against Thoma. Limp, shaking, weak. The other boy had his fingers buried in Minho's hair, gently holding his head against Thomas' shoulder, the other arm now going around his middle to steady him. 

Minho didn't cry. Thomas heard him breathe evenly and deeply, feeling the warmth of his breath against the crook of his neck and just the faintest idea of lips against his own skin.

“It's alright” Thomas said. Unconsciously, they were mirroring a scene when the forest was ignited with golden sunlight. When it was vice versa and Minho had cradled the one he now helplessly clung to, his arms around Thomas.

“It's okay. I got you.” He closed his eyes, trying to let his calm sooth into Minho by just wishing it would.

“I know” Minho whispered.

“We've got each other” Thomas corrected. He found that he hoped it was true. The cold biting at their faces they held onto each other and it was okay. Not good but okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao so the beginning's alright but the end of this one??
> 
> also i just remembered this was actually supposed to be a story about Mary and Thomas' friendship but oh well. Things change, I suppose.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the long hiatus but I am revising for finals 24/7. But I promise to write more!

It began to snow three days later. Thick flocks of white sailed through the thin air, littering the ground. 

They were not equipped for such weather, not by far. The jackets could only help so much and food began to become rare.   
Thomas said propped against the wooden wall of the meeting hall, fiddling eerily with Brenda's wristband. Minho stood next to him, towering like a tree. He would've looked intimidating if he were not shaking with cold.

“This is ridiculous” announced Harriet. The council were just a dozen people, Group A and B subjects and grown up Munies.  
“I refuse to believe WICKED set up all that trials crap just to have us freeze to death out here.” Her harsh words formed white clouds in the air.

Thomas agreed with her. The facility he remembered would have had far more efficient ways of killing. Although, this was kind of ironic, freezing in a scorched, sunburned world. He almost let out a mocking laugh at the thought.

“I know” said Sonya, her red hair tied back in a long ponytail. “There's gotta be somethin' we can do. This is not how I wanna end after everything we've been through.”

Agreement from the crowd of assembled immunes.

“I say, we do our best, make fires, huddle together and share food. The winter can't last forever” offered a tall man with long, wild hair. “It's worth a shot.”

“Or we'll die in a post-apocalyptic ice age” countered Harriet, crossing her arms before her chest. She was obviously unamused by the man's proposal. 

Thomas knew what she must feel like. Itchy and antsy, ready to run for her life if she must but not to sit back and watch the events unfold on their own. They all felt it, they had been trained and conditioned to.

“Maybe there's others” said Minho, suddenly and Thomas looked up at the kid that had stepped a few feet into the inner circle of the group of people. He watched his friend look each and every one of the assembled in the eyes. A tactic Thomas had already seen back in the Glade. In days that felt to lie years and years behind him.

“Others?” asked an older women with a shaved head. “Other whats, boy?”

“Other immunes.” His voice was steady and Thomas felt immediately that Minho had to be very sure of his assumption. 

“And what would that help?” asked Sonya, boldly.

“Worth a shot, better than freezing to death anyway” said Harriet, apparently on Minho's side. Her second in command seemed to consider, then she nodded.

“Wait, wait. Ya kids are sayin' we all should leave and go search some far off made up immune settlement?” mocked a short, plump twenty-something boy with cropped, blond hair. From where he sat, Thomas couldn't see Minho's face but he saw the guy backing away a few steps.

“It's a possibility. And it's by far better than doin' nothing” Minho clarified. 

There were hushed words between the immunes, scared and worried looks but mostly Thomas sensed curiosity and the will not to die without at least trying to flee from the cold.

“Alright” said the tall, lanky one again. “But what about the women? Kids? The sick and old ones? Y'all can't possibly expect us all to leave our secure homes we've literally just built behind for your mission.”

By the mention of women Harriet rolled her eyes. “We're aware that the plan's not yet ready to be set into action” she said and Thomas admired how she could be so calm in the eye of a frightened group of grown-ups.

“Minho, I and a few others will work out the details and call up a meeting when it's all said 'n' done.”

This seemed not to satisfy but to at least calm him enough to agree. “Good that” followed Minho and the group took it as the end of the meeting. Thomas, who had been silently watching, got up from his place and joined up with his best friend outside. It had stopped snowing but the white reached up to their ankles already.

“Great idea, Min” congratulated Thomas with a smirk. He was already shaking violently from the cold halfway back to their shared hut. 

“Yeah, thanks for backing me up in there” Minho growled bitterly. 

Taken aback, Thomas watched his friend in confusion. He had thought that Minho was handling it well enough and he hadn't wanted to avert the attention from his friend to himself. In addition, he had had no clue about Minho's plan and therefore couldn't even been able to add anything helpful.

“I'm sorry” Thomas began, ready to mouth his thoughts but Minho just shrugged. 

“Slim it. Doesn't matter now, does it? Let's just get back inside.”

Even more confused and a little bit guilty, Thomas followed suit and wondered if Minho had known that he wouldn't have been helpful but had wanted him by his side nonetheless. The thought made his heart ache but he didn't dare to say any more.

\------------

The tall man turned out to be called Dave and seemed to have risen to be some kind of leading figure for the Munies.

At least he acted like it. The next morning, when it was barely dawning, Dave pounded loudly against the door of Thomas and Minho's shack. Thomas had taken to sleeping on the ice-cold floor after his argument the prior day. He still wasn't exactly sure what he had done wrong, but as Minho awoke from the steady knocking, he greeted Thomas with a hurt look on his face.

“What the shuck's the matter?” Minho yelled as he opened the door to a very angry Dave, who's caramel brown skin had a hint of blue already.

“I wanna come with you” said Dave, as if it were self-explanatory. But Thomas had no clue what the man was talking about and neither had Minho as it seemed, because he just stared at Dave, utterly bewildered.

“What – what now?” Minho squinted his eyes and Thomas tried to stand up, his bones aching from the cold ground he'd been lying on.

“I wanna come with you. On the mission. Figured you guys could need someone to defend you out there.” He smirked, proudly, arrogantly, something that kind of grossed Thomas out.

“We're not going anywhere, Dave” said Minho. Thomas stood behind him, nodding.

“Yeah, you were there, yesterday, weren't you? There's nothin' decided yet” added Thomas and Minho tensed at his voice, as he hadn't noticed Thomas coming up behind him.  
Dave seemed confused, his bushy eyebrows scrunching up on his long face. “Well, then I don't know what you call what that Harriet girl and her friends are doing but I figured it wasn't yoga class.”

Ignoring the snarky remark, Minho asked: “What d'you mean? What's Harriet doing?”

Dave shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, feeling a little too happy about knowing something the two boys didn't. With every passing minute, Thomas liked Dave less.

“I don't know, they're packing backs and weapons, assembling a bunch of their girlfriends. Thought you knew about it, since you're the alpha boy.” Dave smirked in a really unlikeable way and Thomas found that Dave reminded him a little of Janson. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Shucking...” Minho murmured, then suddenly he went past Dave and was gone. Thomas, his head almost exploding with questions, followed his best friend, regretting leaving behind his jacket mere seconds into the steadily falling snow.

He couldn't see Minho but instinctively went the right direction, finding the Asian having cornered Harriet between two snow covered shacks.

The girl's hair was back in a bun and she had a long, dangerous looking, silver knife tied to her left leg and an arsenal of hand made arrows and a bow on her back. Her face was all grim determination and anger, now that she had been caught.

“What the shuck, Harriet?” said Minho, hurt apparent in his voice. 

“What” shrugged the girl.

“You're leaving? Now? This was my idea, remember? I thought we'd to this together?”

Harriet let out a short, fake laugh and Thomas shuddered not only from the cold.

“Yeah, well, I don't trust ya, okay? After all the stuff we've been through I only trust who's been by my side all along. And you're not one of them.”

“But it was my idea!” Minho shouted.

“Listen, kid. I believe you. There's gotta be other immunes out there, somewhere. Besides, after what happened in the Scorch, you think I'd put our chance of survival in any of your hands?” She seemed absolutely stubborn and Thomas wondered if the betrayal hit Minho as hard as Teresa's had him.

“Harriet, please, be reasonable” Thomas heard himself speak. He stood at Minho's side, who was staring blankly at the dark-skinned girl. “You can't seriously think that Group B can conquer this alone. There might be Cranks and lord knows what else out there. You need backup. Together, our chances of actually finding something are way higher, trust me. Look around, all this” - Thomas gestured towards the nearest buildings, almost vanishing behind a thick curtain of white - “we've built this together, as a team. What can we do to prove to you that you can trust us?”

He knew the girl was proud but that she would risk their chance to survive the cold just because she wouldn't admit she was haunted by the trials was so ridiculously stupid that Thomas just couldn't wrap his had around it.

“Look, let's go inside somewhere and then you can tell us how you wanna do this and we can find a compromise.” Thomas was almost begging. He liked Harriet. She was strong and a real leader and reminded him of Alby. They couldn't afford losing her. Not like this, anyway.

Minho, who had finally found his voice again, added, that she had nothing to lose. “Either you and your girls go out in the snowstorm and either get lost or freeze to death or we make an actual plan and go as a group and conquer whatever's out there and maybe even find somethin'.”

For what seemed like hours, Harriet thought about the offer, considering. 

Then, finally, she opened her mouth. 

“No.”


	11. Chapter 11

“What do you mean 'no'?” Thomas asked.

“I mean, no. I'm not gonna take your offer.”

“What, you're gonna die out there, shucking, think about it” Minho cursed. He had balled his hands into fists and Thomas felt the urge to take them in his to calm the boy.

“Yeah, you're probably right. But I'd rather risk getting lost with my girls than getting stabbed in the back by you lot. I'll take my chances, now get out the way.”

She was swallowed by white too soon and not taking jackets with them prevented Thomas and Minho to follow the hotheaded girl. Minho cursed something inaudible. 

Thomas felt frustrated as well. He wanted to scream into the cold wind and demand answers from WICKED. It couldn't be that after all they had gone through they were supposed to split up and walk away from each other.

They needed each other. Thomas needed them. He didn't want to be alone. He was scared of being alone.

\------------

“I can't believe it” Minho muttered as they were back in their shared home, their fingers red and lips blue, Thomas leaning at the far back wall while Minho sat on the bed, head in his hands.

“This makes no sense” he decided. “The girl's crazy. Maybe she wasn't immune after all. Shucking shuck betraying us. How could she do this?”

Thomas just watched him, afraid to become the target of Minho's now undirected anger. So he didn't answer but instead stayed quiet. But his thoughts were going lightspeed.

It's been such a long time since everything in the Scorch. Teresa, seemingly betraying him and the Gladers and then him leading everyone to a fake finish line. They had put their faith in him and Group A to get out of the desert together, instead, they just fell into another nightmare right after.

He tried to think up the faces of the girls lost but he couldn't remember. He hadn't known them but to Harriet they had to be just as haunting as Chuck or Alby or Winston's faces for him. 

She had trusted the boys, though, the first people outside of their own Glade community and had been let down so completely that after all this time of being safe and working together, building a place to call home, she just couldn't shake the feeling of still being surrounded by hostile, foreign faces that wouldn't hesitate to push her off the cliff.

“Thomas?” Minho's voice abruptly brought Thomas back into reality. He was startled, before relaxing.

“What?” asked Thomas, nervous it would be something negative about him having been quiet in face of an important event yet again.

But he found no sign of anger in Minho's face. Quite the opposite. A weak smile played on the boy's features, lighting up his kind eyes.  
If anything, he looked tired. Worried. 

“C'mere you shank. You must be cold, having slept on the floor and all.”

His heart was pounding in his ears, as he went over to Minho, his limps feeling like ice ready to break. He sat down next to Minho and instantly the other boy turned to him, cross-legged, putting the one blanket they had around Thomas. 

Minho's hands were warm where they brushed over Thomas' back and arms. He hadn't noticed that he was shivering.

Suddenly, Minho's hand was on his forehead, pressing against Thomas' head, his face concentrated.

“Warm. Don't get sick, ya hear me, slinthead? Can't afford carin' for ya.”

“I'm sorry, I just -” Thomas stammered but he didn't know what to say, both because he was afraid of Minho backing away again and to provoke another quarrel as well as out of being at a complete loss of words.

“Quit the sorry's. I am sorry. Shouldn't have let my frustration out on you.” Minho let his hand wander down Thomas' face to cup his chin. Thomas felt himself tremble. Minho's face was so close to his own he could even see himself mirrored in the other's dark eyes. 

He looked away, blushing.

“You're the best shuck thing in this place, couldn't bear to lose you over some klunk argument. Forgive me?”

It was unusual for Minho to admit having been wrong, Thomas thought. And asking for his forgiveness in the matter even more. Thomas became more and more aware that Minho probably needed reassurance and friends and affection just like any other person, even though he tried hard not to let it show.

“Sure” Thomas said weakly but finally able to hold Minho's stare. He could feel Minho's breath quickening, the other boy's hand still under Thomas' chin.

Then, suddenly, Minho leaned forward while simultaneously guiding Thomas towards him. Thomas had a split second, anxiety exploding in his stomach, nervousness, anticipation, happiness. 

Then he closed his eyes.

\------------

 

Their lips met. Minho's were chapped and Thomas felt clumsy and awkward, the blanket around him feeling suddenly very heavy.

After a heartbeat Minho pulled away.

Thomas felt weird, adrenaline rushing though his veins yet he sat perfectly still. Minho's hand was gone from his face and the place were it had rested felt cold and empty.

The other boy locked shocked but not in a bad way. Curious, maybe, eying Thomas, sizing him up. Thomas felt like he should say something but his mind was blank apart from replaying the kiss over and over and over. 

His guts hurt with a sensation he'd only once felt, when Teresa had kissed him all those months ago in the shack out in the Scorch.

He didn't know if he wanted to run away and never return or to pin Minho down on the bed and kiss him until they had no breath left in their lungs and no worries in their heads. Something in between, he guessed. His first clear thought since the kiss. 

How long had it been? Seconds, probably and Minho was still just staring at him. His pupils were blown wide and he looked a little bit lost but mostly concentrated and focused.  
Thomas tried to guess what the other was thinking. 

Was he judging the kiss? Thomas had only ever kissed someone once in the life he remembered and there he hadn't even known what was happening to him, really. He ought to be bad at it.

Had Minho kissed someone before? Thomas doubted it. Definitely no other Glader. Maybe Harriet? Was that why her betrayal hurt him so much? Though Thomas had the feeling that Harriet was more interested in Sonya than Minho or any other boy for that matter. 

Did he regret it? Maybe. He didn't look it, though and Thomas knew what regret looked like.

Did Thomas regret it? He'd become so used to feeling regret and despair and guilt but none of these emotions were apparent at that moment. Only the strange sensation tugging at his insides, trying to persuade him to kiss Minho again.

He noticed the silence. For what felt like the one hundredth time that morning Thomas felt like he should say something, anything, to break the silence that was slowly developing into and uncomfortably long one.

“We should go tell the others about Harriet and the girls” Thomas said. Minho didn't react.

“Maybe a meeting with all in the afternoon would be best, before any rumours can spread on their own.”

Still, the Asian didn't answer nor did he move. It began to scare Thomas.

“Minho?” Thomas tried. “It's alright I won't mention it to anyone, promise, we can pretend like it never happened, if you wanna. Not that something worth talking about ha -”

That seemed to work, Minho blinked and his gaze fell for a second. He sat up straight. There was so much space between him and Thomas, suddenly. 

“Don't.”

“Don't?”

“Nah. Wasn't accidental or something I didn't slip and accidentally fell with my lips on yours and I'm not gonna pretend it was” said Minho. His voice sounded weird, a little too soft even though he seemed hard to put his usual snarkyness back into it. “Said it before, shusk-face, you're the most important thing in this whole klunk situation. Thought I'd made that clear.”

With every further word, Minho regained steadiness and ground, his voice sounding more like himself again. 

Thomas' heart was a mess.

“Yeah, but, I though you, like, dunno -”

“You liked it?” Minho interrupted, nonchalantly, surprising with his ability to completely change from tense and awkward to relaxed and easy.

Thomas startled at the question. He understood that Minho didn't want to ignore the kiss, if out of pride or something else didn't matter, but that he would want to talk about right then Thomas hadn't expected.

“Well, yeah, I -”

“Wanna do it again?” Minho interrupted again, a slight smile both on his face and in his words. It confused Thomas how Minho could be so cool about the situation. His own head filled with more and more questions by the second and his body was a wreck of exhaustion and adrenaline. 

Still, Minho had offered to kiss him again, didn't that mean, he wanted it? That he didn't regret it and that Thomas wasn't a miserable kisser and that their argument and Harriet weren't bad enough things to happen to come between their relationship?

“Okay” Thomas finally answered and Minho smirked, obviously happy with how Thomas had decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^) finally amiright


	12. Chapter 12

Explaining the situation to the assembled, freezing, hungry Immunes hadn't been easy but Minho had managed impressively.

He had retold the story, made sure everyone understood that they hadn't been left in the dark about the mission on purpose and that Harriet alone had decided to leave them without the Council's consent or knowledge.

Even though, Minho had tried his best no to be too harsh with Harriet. “She's just a kid, like us. Scarred from what WICKED has done to her and her friends. I don't understand why she still didn't trust us enough to at least let us in on her plans but I don't blame her and neither should you.”

The message had hung over the heads of the men and women and children for a long time, no one daring to say anything. They were all scared. They could relate. Thomas was reminded of how feeble the trust between all of them was and that everything could crumble down very easily.   
Which was why the success of Minho's speech to ensure the calm and the peace between everyone was such a crucial thing. And the boy had done brilliantly. Not even Dave had risen his voice.

Although, Thomas hadn't even seen him under the assembled. Maybe that was better. As every question seemed answered and everyone settled, at least for a few days, Thomas made his way to catch Minho before the Asian could leave the Meeting hall. 

The door fell shut, they were alone.

It was suddenly much colder, now that the other Munies were gone but their faint voices still hadn't been succumbed by the thick, falling snow.

“Hey, well done” Thomas said with a smile.

“Thanks” Minho huffed out, falling against the door. He looked tired but satisfied. “Was right brilliant, wasn't it?” 

“Shucking brilliant” agreed Thomas and leaned on the door next to Minho. Their shoulders were touching. Thomas was aware of it.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Minho calming down from the speech and Thomas talking about some story that Aris had told him about a dare and Gally eating yellow snow in the forest.

After a while, Minho said: “Let's go home.”

Thomas wondered, if that was the first time Minho had referred to their shared wooden shack as home or if he just hadn't noticed before. 

And then he wondered, if it even mattered because if Minho could call it their home, if they could kiss in their home, things could be fine again.

\------------

Finally, it was just Brenda and him. He had wanted to talk to the girl about Minho ever since their first kiss, fiddling with her bracelet instead but craving her voice, maybe her good wishes and her “everything is going to be fine, then”. He needed her reassurance that he wasn't making a mistake. Her blessing.

After an hour of patrolling, Thomas, having felt as if to burst with the news, eventually told his friend about him and Minho and the new turn in their relationship. 

It had been a week since Harriet and the girls had left for the mission.

The snow almost up to their knees but fortunately, the night patrol had left a path that Brenda and him could follow easily. 

And Thomas told her everything. About his fear and his confusion and his happiness and his longings. All the while Brenda would nod or say “oh” but she didn't say enough and he couldn't see her face, as she was walking in front of him, leaving him in the dark about how she felt about the whole thing.

They reached a clearing where some of the snow had been melted away by he sun already and it was easy to walk and they decided to take a break.

Brenda found a tree trunk they sat on, munching on their half frozen sandwiches.

When they had finished, the girl finally faced Thomas, as if she had used the time of silence to prepare her next words. 

“You're being irrational” Brenda said, crossing her arms before her chest.

It hit Thomas like a blow to the face.

“Listen, Thomas, I don't want you to get hurt, alright? Just … things might be really overwhelming and stressful for Minho right now and maybe the thing with you is just how he gets his mind off the things bothering him.”

Brenda had a genuinely caring look on her face, cheeks and nose red and her dark eyes friendly, an almost arrogant smile. 

But Thomas didn't feel like thanking her for her advice. Instead, he angrily answered: “Yeah, well, you can't know that and for the record, I know Minho a little better than you so maybe you shouldn't tell me how he feels, alright.”

It came out more rude than he had intended, frustration bubbling in his stomach. In the back of his head, he was just angry. Angry that Brenda had pointed out exactly what he had feared all along, that Minho wasn't serious about him and that he was exaggerating their relationship. But it stung nonetheless to hear one of his closest friends talk to him like he was a confused, starry eyed child, fooled by the one he trusted the most.

He blocked away her hand she had aimed for his shoulder. “I'm sorry” she said. 

The white snow around him turned into white noise in his head. He could barely look at her. He felt like throwing up. Brenda had basically called him a fool for falling for Minho and their relationship meaningless fun for the Asian boy.

“Thomas” Brenda sighed. She sounded a lot older than he felt. “I didn't mean to offend you. I just want you to be careful and not leave yourself too vulnerable. You might get really hurt if the one you like turns out to not feel the same feelings for you.”

Finally, Thomas looked up at her. There was frost in her hair, where her breath had turned cold. She was stunning, in the white light of the morning sun and the silence of the forest around them.

She looked at him, somehow reminding him of Teresa, brown eyes instead of blue ones staring at him.

“I don't want you to fall for someone that can't give you what you deserve.”

He felt her words becoming soft and her voice a whisper.

She sat close to him. He could feel her breath on his face.

In a moment of boldness, Thomas heard himself say the words he remembered thinking a lot in the past few weeks, maybe months and perhaps even in his lost years at WICKED: “I love him.”

Brenda looked taken aback, her eyes clouding, cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. She was embarrassed.

Just then, Thomas realized that she hadn't really talked about him and Minho at all. Eyes wide, he jumped to his feet, heat creeping into his face.

“Brenda, I'm … it's -”

“It's alright, Thomas” the girl said, a sad smile tugging at her lips. She was very calm. Very collected. “First Teresa and now Minho. I'm never going to be your first choice. I should just stop pretending that somehow some way you could end up choosing me after all.”

He felt stupid and sorry. How could he not have noticed? Her kiss on his cheek, the comment about repopulating the earth, suddenly avoiding him after he moved in with Minho. It had been obvious, really.

“Brenda, I'm so sorry” he said, meaning every word. His argument with her felt childish and out of place. Embarrassment for bragging about him and Minho washed over Thomas.

“Seriously, Thomas, if you don't stop apologizing I might cry, okay?” Brenda laughed but it didn't sound genuine. “Please can we just forget this? God, this is so stupid.”

The urge to run away and bang his head against something solid overcame Thomas. He had hurt Brenda deeply. He had never seen her on the verge of tears before. They stood in front of each other in silence for minutes. 

“There's no way you're ever gonna be interested in me, is there?” Brenda asked. The question was so fundamentally ordinary that it felt out of place in their apocalyptic world. The whole scenario felt strange and off. A tiny part of Thomas still waited to wake up on a surgical table at WICKED.

Still, Brenda stood there, waiting for him to answer, eyes watering not only from the cold.

He considered lying to her. That maybe Minho and him wouldn't work out and that he had always kind of loved her. That they could end up living happily ever after together. That everything was going to be fine, then.

But she had never been more than a good friend to him. A companion in fighting WICKED, someone to rely on and talk to without second thought, even about his complicated relationship with another boy.

And she deserved his truth.

“No.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for  
> animal death (implied, as in, they are using animal skin to write on)  
> death (mentioned/implied)

“Well, then” Brenda said, trying to make her voice seem cold but Thomas knew too well how people looked that had been deeply hurt and tried to hide it.

He didn't try to comfort her. Neither words nor touch could better the situation. He tried hard not to feel guilty. It was his life and he hadn't chosen to fall for Minho but it had happened and he was not going to pretend to be sorry about it.

“We should finish this round and get back to camp. If the snow continues falling like that we'll lose the way back” said Brenda after what had felt like years of uncomfortable silence.

Thomas was glad that she had dropped the subject. The shame still had it's claws around his heart but he tried to focus on the now.

Despite the snow, they had no troubles finding the way back and Thomas thought that Brenda just wanted to get away from him.

He didn't blame her. Rather, he could sympathize. 

He used to feel the same way. Like he didn't belong, not really. He felt so sorry for Brenda that it physically hurt to breathe, the cold air scorching his lungs.

As soon as they had reached the outer rings of the camp, Brenda had stormed off without another word. It was okay with Thomas. He hadn't wanted to talk.

The boy just hoped she would be okay. Hoped, she had someone to talk to. To come to terms with it all.

Even though he felt like, out of respect for Brenda's revelation, he should not, he went back to his and Minho's hut. 

He found the other sitting on the floor over a large deer skin map Thomas had never seen before.

Minho looked up when the door fell shut. His eyes lit up.

“Hey, Thomas. Back already?”

Thomas must have made a face because Minho lifted an eyebrow at him.

“What's wrong?” he asked, sincerely. 

Thomas sat down on their bed and took off his jacket. Their bed, he thought. It was strange.

“I told Brenda about us” explained Thomas. He waited for Minho to answer, but the dark haired boy just sat and stared at Thomas, so he continued.

“She told me she … had a crush on me and I told her, well, that I -.”

“That we're together” completed Minho, a hint of possessiveness in his voice that made Thomas kind of feel proud. He was ashamed of that.

“Yeah, right. She didn't exactly take it well. She is very upset.”

“You're worrying” analyzed Minho.

“I'm always worrying.”

“True, but you're worrying that she won't want to be your friend anymore.”

It was still weird, for Thomas, to be so open with Minho. Or more, that Minho was that open with him. That the guy wanted to know about things that were on Thomas' mind and told him what was on his own. That they didn't hide from each other. Pretended they were fine.

It wasn't a bad weird.

“Exactly. I mean, I pretty much broke her heart … I think” said Thomas, feeling himself blushing.

Minho let out a laugh and went back to studying the map. “She'll get over you.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn't mean it like that, shank.” Minho rolled his eyes, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Even though some of the tension had left Thomas, he still wanted to change the subject now. It hurt thinking about having upset one of his closest friends. At least he hoped she still was. It made him sad to think about it.

“What's that map you're so fascinated with?” Thomas asked, slipping off of the bed and sitting down next to Minho.

On the cold floor lay a large deer skin. Thomas made out the camp, a circle the size of his hand in the west of the map, a forest surrounding it. He recognized the cliff and the ocean and the river, which looked so tiny on the map.

There were pieces of writing coal lying on the floor on Minho's other side and his blackened fingers showed he had drawn the map himself.

“I've been mapping the territory the last couple of days. Weeks, actually. Well, me and a few others, that is. We've been up and down the river to both sides and then to the north and south away from it and the camp.” 

As he was talking, Minho traced his finger over the map, showing Thomas where he and the others had run.

“Why didn't I know of this project?” asked Thomas. He couldn't help but feel a little left out.

The feeling vanished when Minho turned his head to him and kissed him on the cheek. 

“You worry too much. And besides, I'm telling ya now, am I not?”

Thomas thought it was because Minho had wanted to boast with his map he'd come up with on his own. Thomas still wasn't a big fan of Minho keeping secrets from him. He appreciated the kiss, though.

“Is this about finding the girls?”

Minho's eyes fell upon the map again, shrugging.

“'Suppose. I mean, running and mapping the surroundings of the camp is a good idea and if we make bigger and bigger rounds with more and more people is way smarter than just vanishing into the snow.”

He sighed and looked at Thomas again. The boy had bags under his eyes Thomas hadn't noticed before.

“I'm just afraid we'll find the buggin' slintheads frozen in some cave, ya know?” 

It was weird how naturally Thomas breathed a kiss on Minho's cheek in return.

“You worry too much” he parroted. That made Minho smile.

“They're tough. And I don't think Harriet didn't have a plan. They must have been planning the thing since we've first come up with the idea.”

Although Minho didn't look completely convinced, he rolled up the deer skin map and came to his feet, holding out a hand Thomas took.


End file.
